Bleak
by That One Eccedentesiast
Summary: Saving your town from a zombie apocalypse and vengeful spirit doesn't change the fact that your an outsider. One-shot.


_**Bleak**_

* * *

One would think rescuing a town from a zombie apocalypse and a vengeful ghost would put you on the right side of things, but Norman quickly found that to be false. Sure, his dad believed in him seeing spirits and Courtney didn't call him a freak as much; but no one liked him talking to ghosts still. In fact, Norman was pretty sure they hated it.

After that night...they had to have wanted to put it all behind them. Pretend - to an extent - that it hadn't happened at all. But his dad, sister, mom, and everyone else of the town should have seen that was impossible. Hundreds of ghosts, if not _thousands_, did not disappear because one was put to "rest" (Agatha still woke up the next year, and maybe she hadn't been hateful, but the girl had still wanted company for the night). Norman had never hidden his abilities before and had hoped after rescuing the town he could be even more open, but that simply didn't fly with anyone.

He got his butt handed to him within a week.

All his dad had to say about it was "Why do you have to go showing others up Norman? You _already _saved the town! Couldn't you put that ghost-talk away at school?"

_No dad, I can't; _he had thought. Ghosts didn't like to be ignore, they had been people once too.

Neil was still cool and gave him a pretty fair sense of normality when they hung out...but being in high school had cut back on how much they saw each other as had their pursuits. Neil was a part of art club and Norman? Well, he didn't have an artistic bone in his body and had tried out for track instead. He got in. It wasn't like they ever rejected anyone anyway. No one really ever spoke to him at track and he wasn't the best - or the worst and after a month he'd dropped out. Why go if they didn't actually want him? There were tons of mediocre track runners as it was.

After a while, he'd just retreated to his family room to watch zombie movies with his grandma (as he had when he was eleven, ten, nine, and eight). She was good company and loved him, but...

Norman wanted more.

There had been a pretty cute transfer student in his geometry class. She wore purple lip gloss and laughed like a hyena; no one seemed to like her all that much either, but just as Norman worked up the courage to ask her out for pizza or bowling or-or _something_, she disappeared. Having moved away again already. From what little he'd heard, it was because her dad had not liked the job he'd taken in Blithe Hollows and found one a couple towns over instead.

Going out to Agatha's tree for her anniversary, he'd plopped down with a storybook and waited.

Shortly after sunset, she'd risen up and smiled at the sight of him.

"Norman!" She exclaimed. Peaking at the book in his lap, she inquired "What's it this year? Is it a happy story? I like those best."

Turning the small book over in his hands, Norman had shrugged. "You know," he murmured, "I don't know. My school gave it to me and...it's about a Puritan woman. I thought you might like it."

Sitting down beside him, Agatha had frowned. "You sound so sad. Every year even more so."

"Do I?" Norman chuckled darkly. "I guess it must just be teenage hormones getting to me."

Fretfully, the ghost played with her skirt. "Would you...would you be happier with me?"

"What do you mean?" Norman asked slowly, carefully. Was she saying what he thought she was?

Looking above them at the tree they sat beneath, Agatha whispered "I've seen people do it. They take a rope and-" she trembled; fingers tracing around her neck.

Could he? What would his mom say? His dad? Did it matter what they thought? No, not really. They had Courtney who was "perfect" a popular, pretty, smart college student who was planning to be a nurse. And what about Norman? An above average high school student sure, but he wasn't popular, handsome or going anywhere. He'd be lucky if he even got one recommendation letter from a teacher. They were all scared, skeptical or irritated with him. A kid who talked to ghosts was a liar, crazy or an attention-whore.

Making the snap decision, Norman began to scale the tree.

"Norman!" Agatha cried from below. "Norman!"

He looked down on the girl. "What?!" He snapped. "Do you want me to join you or not?!"

She clamped up quick and stood watching with dour eyes.

Reaching the highest branch he could, Norman looked back to the ground. Agatha's tree was old. And big. Tall too. A jump from this height should kill him, shouldn't it? Taking a breath, Norman stood up on wobbling feet and fell. He felt the air around him, and for a moment he felt like he was _alive _and then-

"N-!"

It was too late.

A moment later, he stood up from his body to see Agatha looking down on his corpse._  
_

Norman looked too.

If he could have, he would have been sick all over.

"I'm sorry," Agatha whispered with tears in her eyes. "I shouldn't have asked you to do that."

Brushing off the apology, Norman told himself he was better for it. "I probably would have sometime soon with or without your prompting," he admitted. "Everything's been really bleak."

She took his hand. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah," Norman sighed. "Me too."

And together they sat down and waited for morning.

Someone would come looking for him by then.

They had to.

* * *

**Because the more I watch Paranorman, I just can't see a happy ending for our dear little hero.**

**Thanks for reading and pretty please review!**


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